The Running Men From UNCLE
by girl in the glen
Summary: Stripped down and running for their lives, the men from UNCLE are in dire straits. A story originally posted on LJ for the Section VII What's My Line? challenge.


The low branches were whipping at unprotected flesh as the two UNCLE agents ran for their lives through a dense jungle, a hoard of THRUSH goons hot on their trail. If not for the fact that they were naked and without shoes for the sprint from hell, the experience might have had a certain thrill factor to which either or both of them had become, admittedly and without shame, somewhat addicted.

Life without risk was hardly worth living, or so it seemed.

Currently the risk was great, both for the prospect of dying young and also having their tender flesh either eaten by giant bugs or battered into bruised and bleeding canvases for some other great challenge.

Illya was ahead by a few steps, his athleticism as usual a boon to survival. Napoleon, likewise fit as a fiddle, so to speak, was nonetheless slightly less agile than his smaller, very nubile Russian partner. He had often wondered how a grown man could fit into the contortions often accomplished by Kuryakin, but at the moment it was a moot point. Surviving this nightmare with all of his skin intact, and some very important body parts, was taking all of Solo's fuel.

A vine hanging down so low as to slow the pace suddenly moved, a glint of sunlight alerting Illya to its real nature.

"Snake! Napoleon, look out!" And so he did, missing the creature by inches just as his partner had. It occurred to both of them, simultaneously, that perhaps their pursuers might not be so fortunate. As they dodged the green reptile each of them slowed down and then stopped. Panting for breath, the senior agent spoke up between gasps for air.

"Illya... we won't win ... this foot race." Illya was equally exhausted, similarly out of breath. He nodded, unable to gather together his words just yet...

"This is a completely untenable situation. I am going to have a revenge of that madman." The memory of Sebastian Ramos in his large rattan peacock chair, shouting out to them as they sprinted into the jungles...

"E eles estão fora ... And... they're off!" The Portuguese rang in the Russian's ears as he considered what type of torture he might inflict on the pompous THRUSH chief from Brazil.

As soon as those words had been uttered, the two agents from the U.N.C.L.E. were running for all they were worth. Assured of a five minute lead, neither of them trusted that the smarmy head of this Amazon satrapy would keep his word. True to his disreputable nature, Ramos had sent his men out in pursuit almost immediately. Only the fitness of the two agents had kept them ahead of the lesser specimens that passed for guards in this forsaken place.

Now they were going to bet on the ineptness of those who followed; that and the mood swings of a certain Amazon Tree Boa.

Illya was the lucky bait, his ability to climb one of the jungle trees at short notice the deciding factor. Napoleon hid behind a stand of young raffia palms, out of sight in an optical illusion sort of way. As the three hunters approached, Illya was in plain sight, on the other side of the tree boa. In their enthusiasm to get to the Russian, two of the men walked right into the snake, causing it to fall on top of them and biting the most unfortunate one. Yelping with pain, he sought help from his companions.

The second man still had his eyes on Illya who was resisting running into the jungle. No one was shooting... yet. The snake was unconcerned about strategy, only aware of two intruders and the need to defend itself. A second bite, a second yelp of surprise and pain. By this time the third man was looking wildly around the scene. Where was the dark haired UNCLE agent?

With one fluid movement, Napoleon leaped out of his frond laced hiding spot, bringing down the man who had so far escaped being bitten. One swift karate chop and it was all over. The two bite victims were writhing in their agony, mostly fearful of the effects of snake venom, although in this case there would be none; perhaps the fear alone would be enough to paralyze the two ignorant goons. Napoleon quickly started stripping the man at his feet, grateful now that he would yield clothing and boots for the rest of the journey.

For his part, Illya had relieved the other two THRUSH of their firearms and now demanded that they undress. If they were afraid of the snake that had bitten them, both men now realized that the Russian was a scarier proposition. With both rifles now aimed at them, one in each of his menacingly large hands, it was a definite possibility that one or both of them might end up dead.

Luckily for them, Illya resisted the urge bash their heads in. Instead he let Napoleon hold the guns on them as he dressed, all the while seething at the thought of Ramos still alive in his rainforest hideaway.

When both Solo and Kuryakin were dressed, they conferred briefly on the next step.

"I say we go back and finish off this mission the way it was supposed to be done." Napoleon hated leaving loose ends, and that THRUSH satrapy was a loose as they came.

"I agree, my friend. Our reputations are at stake here, and I have some unfinished business with Ramos." Illya intended to make things right, and that meant demolishing the satrapy and its overlord.

Sometimes the job meant you couldn't care what happened to the other guy. The three men who had chased the UNCLE agents through the jungle would have killed them if given the opportunity. Now they were left to their own luck or lack of it; tied up, the two bite victims probably in danger of dying from exposure more than anything else. It couldn't be helped, time was running out.

Dressed now, with boots and rifles, Solo and Kuryakin ran again, this time towards Ramos' satrapy. There were about two hours of daylight left, and it was important to get back there and locate the explosives necessary to bring the place down to embers. More quickly than they had arrived at the spot with the tree boa, Illya and Napoleon found themselves looking through leaves and vines at the crude buildings that made up Ramos' place of business.

Four guards were visible, and in thinking back the three left in the jungle were the only other ones that Illya remembered.

"Yeah, you're right tovarisch. So, four guards and Ramos... Do you know where to find the explosives?" Illya nodded. One of the things an agent had to practice was observing every detail within the enemy camp. Often it was the difference between success and failure to know where the elements of destruction were housed.

"I saw a stash of dynamite in one of the rooms near the front of the guard's quarters. I will go there while...'' Napoleon cut in.

"While I go and pay a visit to Sebastian Ramos. I believe it will be a surprise." Napoleon smiled at the thought of just how surprised Ramos would be.

While Illya snuck past the guards to retrieve his cache of explosives, Napoleon practically sauntered into the main house where Ramos resided. He had claimed this part of the jungle as his domain, was funded by THRUSH in an effort to rules even in this part of the world.

Ramos heard Solo before he saw him; a squeak in the floorboards alerted him to the presence of someone in the room. He didn't expect to see the UNCLE agent, however, and when he turned to bark at the intruder his verbal attack was halted by the shock of seeing the man he had sent naked into the jungle.

"Solo! How did you ...? I suppose my men are now dead." He wasn't alarmed, there was no emotional attachment to any of these hirelings.

"Yes, that would be me. Oh, and if you hear a big boom... well, that would be my partner, Mr. Kuryakin. Now, if you will be so kind as to ...' Napoleon motioned for the other man to sit in the chair next to him, producing a pair of handcuffs that the guard in the jungle had been carrying.

"Yes, that's right. Sit down and cuff that arm... yes that is very good. Now, I'll just finish this up...' Solo finished cuffing Ramos with his hands behind the chair back.

"Now, all nice and tidy." At that moment Illya entered, slightly out of breath and obviously in a hurry.

"Napoleon, now! We must go now, there isn't much time." Ramos looked wild and started pulling at the cuffs. Illya strode over to him and hit him. Hard. Ramos went tumbling backwards, out like a light.

"Feel better?" Illya smiled at the question.

"Much. Now, let's go."

They ran out of the house towards some parked jeeps, hopeful that the keys were in the ignition. They were, and as Illya turned the key and the engine roared to life, the first explosion lit up the dusky twilight. The jeep jumped into action as Illya gunned it, crashing through the meager gate that separated the compound from the jungle beyond.

This was so much better than the last time they had sprinted away from Ramos. As Napoleon craned his neck to see the explosions that were obliterating the THRUSH nest, Illya howled at the sense of freedom he was experiencing as the sturdy vehicle bounced and careened around the obstacle course of the jungle. It wasn't long before he remembered the words that had sent them off on that other race, and in every language he had mastered and a few he had not, the Russian shouted out the starting gate proclamation...

"And... they're off!"

And... they were.


End file.
